Strength Bravery Blood
by under.the.bridge.downtown
Summary: Rosalinda Morozov has been cast out of proper pureblood society and been forced to become a pariah of the wizarding world. After the murder of her parents and an unplanned revenge on their killer, Rose now hides in England with her remaining family. Maybe even a pureblood elitist's frozen heart can be melted by a bunch of traitors, half-breeds and mudbloods.


A scrawny girl stands awkwardly on the edge of the ballroom, half hidden in the shadow of the stage where her parents sat along with a few choice member of high pureblood society. The seat beside her mother is left vacant as she scurries along the edges of the room, trying to catch a glimpse of the older dancing couples. Rosalinda's black dress itches at the bottom of her calves and the sleeves cling tightly at the wrists but she didn't dare adjust anything. Not after it had taken her mother and four house elves half the day to prepare her for the night. White hair is pulled back into a simple braid, the colour a signature trait of the Morozov line. She had heard tell of a family somewhere in England with similar features. Perhaps they were distantly related? It was likely, almost every significant pureblood family could find some sort of connection to one another if they dug far back enough.

She gazes out into the crowd, mouth hanging open in amazement as pairs swing by, in what appears to be a random pattern, without hitting each other. Women's dresses just dust each other, molding together in a beautiful sea of colours that hurt Rosalinda's eyes if she stares for too long. But even the burning behind her eyelids can't force her to turn away. They all look so elegant and graceful, everything she aspired to be, even at eight years old.

She spots a group of older girls clustering together on the other side of the buffet table, eyeing a fewchoice young men who clearly didn't mind the attention as much as they were letting on. One boy, taller than the rest, walks over and effectively sends the gaggle into a fit of giggles. He approaches one in particular, a beautiful girl with straight dark hair and a tight blue dress. Unlike her friends, her face stayed cool and a haughty smirk that would have looked ugly on anyone else gives her an air of superiority. The boy bows low, kissing the back of her hand and pulling her out into the middle of the ballroom. Rose follows them with her eyes, letting out a wistful sigh.

"What are you looking at котенок?" A deep voice rumbled from behind her. Rose jumps in alarm, head hanging low in shame at being caught spying on the guests.

"Nothing Papa." She muttered down at her shoes. Misha Morozov laughs, his belly shaking at his daughter's antics. He grabs her shoulders, lost within his large grip and begins to steer her towards the dance floor.

"Come on котенок, let us dance." As she spins around standing on her father's feet, her eyes keep drifting over towards the girl in the blue dress who was still dancing with the handsome boy, that smirk solidly in place. It's then she decides she will grow up to be that girl.

* * *

Her jaw throbs where the older boys fist connected with the bone, sending shock waves through her skull and her body careening into a brick wall. She doesn't cry out or back down, even though she knows she's outnumbered and every instinct in her telling, _screaming_ at her to flee. But at Durmstrang you fight until the death or until victory, whichever comes first. It would bring shame to her school and her family should she cower and surrender.

It's four against one and these are fifth years that surround her. Big, hulking boys that are all muscle and no intellect. Rose doesn't really stand even the slightest chance but they've cornered her in a more isolated part of the school and no one is coming to her rescue. A small group of students has begun to gather around, none of them offering her any help. They're only coming around to enjoy the show and watch the first year brat get pummeled. They've kicked her wand away, Rosalinda winces when a few unsuspecting classmates knock it even further out of her reach. Alright then, she'll have to get physical. She's small and bony, but they underestimate her size for weakness. While her skills lay with curses and jinxes, she knows she's fast and she knows they won't expect her to fight at all, never mind fight dirty.

"Get up you little bitch." One spits, kicking her sharply in the ribs. His friends laugh behind him, goading him on.

"That's right Gregori, show her!" Someone in the crowd yells out and Gregori kicks her again, a shot directly to the chest that leaves her wheezing.

"Had enough?" He asks, as if he's offering her some kind of courtesy. Rose shakily gets to her feet, using a window to support most of her weight. They don't notice her rise at first, already congratulating each other as if they've won some great battle.

"Hey Fucker." Her voice comes out in a squeak, no where near having the impact she'd been going for. It still gets their attention, Gregori turns back and laughs.

"What?"

"Bite me." Her arm swing back and she throws everything she has into the punch. His head snaps to the side, giving her enough time to jump onto his back and latch her teeth on to his ear. Howling in pain, he tries to throw her off but Rose has already scrambled down and moves to deliver a quick kick to his groin. The boy three times her size falls to the ground at her feet in a bloody, crying mess. She looks up at the crowd through one eye, the other already swollen shut, and his friends take a few steps back. Clearly their allegiance to their leader isn't as strong as he'd thought.

"Anybody else?" They shake their heads and it's her turn to spit at their feet, a mixture of blood and saliva staining the the ground brown. She limps over to her wand and walks down the hall without looking back. At the end of the corridor, her Potions professor Elena Forberg nods her approval.

"Best get those ribs looked at." Is all she offers before marching back the way she came. It's a long and excruciating walk to the medical wing. No one stops to ask her what happened, no one tries to help her. The healer doesn't question her injuries and she doesn't offer any information. By the end of the day she has three broken ribs, two dislocated knuckles, a cracked jaw and one less tooth but no one ever picks a fight with Rose again.

She wears her bruises proudly until they heal.

* * *

Rose has been asked to guest lecture in one of the Second year Dark Arts classes. No one is surprised when it happens, she's the best dueler Durmstrang has seen since the great Gellert Grindelwald. Even at fourteen she had already far surpassed her fellow students, both younger and older, and even a few teachers. The young ones in the class can only stare at her in awe when she sweeps into the classroom ten minutes late, her uniform buttoned and pressed to perfection. It's a good contrast for her white hair, which has been thrown up into a hasty bun and resembles more of a birds nest than anything else.

"My apologizes Professor Trygg, I was delayed by the Headmaster." She's quick to adjust her stance, shoulders back and eyes hooded just as her mother taught her. Their awe turns into a mixture of fear and a strong sense of inferiority. Rosalinda makes her way to the front of the room where her professor is resting up against the desk. He's one of the few teachers she can actually stand, and although his methods are somewhat... unorthodox, she respects him and holds him in high regard. Even with the many rumors floating around him that involve a staggering number of seventh years girls.

"No trouble Miss Morozov, we're happy you agreed to demonstrate for us today. Class, this is my star pupil Rosalinda Morozov." She wants to blush at his praise, but holds it back and continues to look out into the crowd with a sort of bland boredom.

"Now today I'd like to start with the Conjunctivitis Curse. It's fairly simple to master but effective in battle. Miss Morozov, if you would be so kind as to demonstrate. Antony, get up here!" Rose watches some skinny, wisp of a boy make his way up to the front with his legs shaking with every step. She has to cough into her hand to hide her laughter but she knows the professor hears it by the way his mouth twists into a grin. Removing her fur lined cloak, she takes up her natural dueling position. Turning to her side with her right foot on point, her left hand rests lazily on her hip. Antony takes a more generic approach, facing her head on. She's tempted to bark at him for such a disgraceful stance but decides against it, the only way he'll learn is by getting hurt. With a nod from Trygg, Rose flicks her wand and the boy stumbles around blindly in the dark, his eyes failing him. Trygg chuckles and shakes his head.

"Well done, well done. Maria, take Antony to the medical wing. Now how about something with a little more difficulty." The classroom door slammed shut on the noses of a few curious Third years cutting class and locks them out. Rose stayed in position as the professor moved to stand opposite of her.

"Alright Miss Morozov, just like we discussed."

"Yes Sir." Taking in a deep breath and willing her heart to calm down, she swung her arm in an elaborate pattern.

"Imperio!" Trygg's wand arm fall's limply at his side and his eyes glazed over with a milky cloud. It took all her energy and concentration not to lose her hold on him when the students started to chatter to each other obnoxiously. She kept her concentration, twisting her wand so the professor spun in a few circles before jumping on top of his desk to dance a sort of jig to no music. After a few minutes she felt the spells potency begin to diminish and released it with a groan. Trygg stopped immediately, shaking his head to dust out the cobwebs in his mind while Rose took what she felt was a well deserved break on one of the desks.

"Very good Miss Morozov. Very impressive indeed. You see class, this young woman is who you should aspire to be."

* * *

Tristan Helvig is three times her senior and has already been married once before. He's not a terribly unpleasant looking man, she supposes the salt and pepper hair and thick black beard does give him a sense of maturity even if his body is covered with scars and muscle had begun to decay with his old age. Still, her parents choice of betrothed could have been worse. They could have forced her to marry into the House of Black or to a Lestrange. She still shivers at the thought of Walburga Black drunk at one of her parents galas.

Their engagement was announced on her sixteenth birthday, just after the new year has been rung in and snow is still thickly piled on the ground. Rose had smiled politely and accepted many thanks, playing the part of the blushing bride. Inside though, she's boiling over with annoyance as her fiance's hand continued to travel lower and lower as the night wore on.

She had let her teeth grind at the dinner table when a hand had slipped under her skirt, she'd allowed her nails to dig into her palms when he had interrupted her conversation with the Prime Minister on expanding her schools medical facilities, claiming women had such silly ideas and really shouldn't be involved in politics. She had even bitten into her tongue until it bled when he announced to the party guests that they would be moving into their new home in Spain within the month without mentioning it to her first. She had done all of these things because he was to be her husband and this marriage could secured immeasurable wealth and power for her family. It would allow them a high position within pureblood ranks, few would be able to touch them with Helvig on their side. But she could do nothing to hold back her words now.

"What do you mean I'm not to go back to school?! I haven't even started my sixth year yet!" Tristan had locked them in his guest room as soon as society would have deemed appropriate. Engaged couples technically weren't supposed to left alone together until after the wedding had taken place but her fiance was so feared and respected that no one had stood to stop him when he had all but dragged her to his bed. Rose now sat on the edge of the mattress absolutely fuming. She knew her wand was locked away tightly within his vault behind the original Monte, he had taken possession of it when he'd arrived the week before. It wasn't custom for a proper pureblood wife to have a wand.

"Honestly my dear, I don't understand why you're so upset. It's not like that school is teaching you anything important. Your mother has assured me that you've the best upbringing money could buy. You already have all the skills you'll need to be a wife and mother so why wait another two years?" Tristan placed his now empty whiskey glass on the marble mantel before walking over to sit at her side. She didn't cringe away when his manicured hands came to rest on her shoulders. Oh how she despised men with soft hands. Soft hands meant cold hearts. As he attempted to massage away the tension, Rose held down the dinner that was fighting its way back up.

"Soon we'll be wed and won't ever have to worry about that wretched school, or this bleak country again." Hot, wet breath in her ear made her skin crawl and her stomach lurch. While the screams and curses in her mind leaves her ears ringing, her body remains still and pliant under his touch. She would absolutely not, under any circumstances, mess up this arrangement. Not with the threat of what happened to his first wife and her family when an heir was failed to be conceived looming over her head. But even Rosalinda, with her collected attitude and cold stare, could stop herself from shuddering away as his tongue dipped into the hollow of her throat, licking his way up to her ear. Tristan chuckled into her skin, his hands dropping to her hips and bunching up the material of her dress.

"It's good that you're nervous my sweet. It means you're still pure." his voice was heavy and winded, his age betraying him as excitement began to build to quickly. He no longer had youth on his side to steady his urges. His fingers kept climbing higher and higher up her exposed thighs while greasy lips and sharp teeth nibbled along her throat. She would not flinch. She would not be sick. She was a Morozov, one of the oldest and proudest pureblood families in all of the wizarding world. Her ancestors had slain dragons, demolished kingdoms and spat in the faces of kings and magicians. The women of her clan were as dark and biting as the winters they suffered through. None could surpass them in neither beauty nor lethality. The white lion head of her family crest represented all she should ever hope to be.

_Strength_, she chanted as her dress was ripped away.

_Bravery_, she thought as he shoved her back onto the bed, bony limbs digging into her sides and grinding against her bones.

_Blood,_ she pictured when his hand dove greedily below the silk shift her mother had given to her hours before.

She didn't hear his groans and whispers, didn't feel him as he brutally forced his way into her and shifted them farther onto the bed with each dry thrust. Her eyes remained bare, her mouth locked shut, her screams left dormant.

Strength. Bravery. Blood.

Strength. Bravery. Blood.

Strength. Bravery. Blood.

He doesn't last long, grunting and arching against her body before emptying himself and collapsing on top of her without adjusting for his weight. For a second, Rose feared he'd actually fallen asleep still inside her and a trill of panic shot up her spine. But then he moved again, rolling over and bringing them both under the sheets. His hand reached for hers in the dark. When had the lights gone out? He found it balled into a tight fist, her sharp nails breaking the skin.

"Sleep now my girl, for one day you will love me." He had already drifted off into sleep, sated and satisfied. But Rosalinda lay in bed wide awake and aching. She turned to look at the man who was to be her husband.

"I will never love you." She whispered defiantly into the dark. She couldn't have known he was awake. She couldn't have known he'd heard her loathsome dedication. She couldn't have known. She couldn't have known.

When she arrived home the next day after an outing with some acquaintances, her parents blood decorated the walls of every room she had ever played in as a child. Their empty bodies twisted together in some sick form of crucifixion hanging from the chandelier in the parlour. She scribbles a note to her aunt and uncle in England with a blank expression. Packs her bags, and apparates to the nearest public floo network. She thinks about running away with her tail between her legs and her pride successfully tarnished, but she can't bring herself to disappoint her parents again. It only takes a brief flash of their mutilated bodies behind her eyes to send her charging. There is no mistake of who's work this is. He signs every room and wall in red.

Landing in the Helvig manor with her bags still in hand, Rose finds him in his office talking to someone in the fireplace. He notices her right away, but waits to acknowledge her until after his conversation is done. Once the fire dies out, her turns to her with the expression of an innocent but the eyes of a murderer.

"Rosalinda, to what do I owe this pleasure?" He's businesslike and stoic. Almost as if he was actually surprised to find her there. After all, what did he have to fear from a little girl with no wand?

"I'm afraid the engagement is off Tristan." she said evenly. Dropping her bags, she walks calmly over to sit on the edge of his desk. Tristan leans forward in his chair, uncrossing his legs and resting his arms on his open knees.

"Is that right?"

"Yes." Is all she offers as explanation.

"Well if that's the case, then why are you here? Surely you have some sense Rosalinda, you really should have fled by now. Honestly, I thought you were brighter than that." She didn't rise to his condescension. Instead she unlocks the fire that has been burning in her chest and lets it grow.

"Oh I plan on it, but I couldn't very well leave without saying a proper goodbye. My mother raised me to be a lady you know." She doesnt choke on the word _mother_ like she thought she would have. Helvig laughed, standing to walk over to the open window. His back was turned to her, how foolish. As he continued to chatter on, Rose slipped her mother's stolen wand from her sleeve.

"I have to say I am disappointed in you Rosalinda."

"You'll get over it." She had mastered wordless magic years ago, so he wasn't able to anticipate her attack. Rose walks to stand over his squirming body, relishing in the way his eyes take on a crazed look like some sort of caged animal. Her arm lifts, the wand dangled loosely between her fingers. It was awkward and heavy, it did bend to her will like her wand had but it tasted her blood lust and shared her cravings for revenge for its mistress So it allows her to freeze the blood in his veins and slow his heart to a useless pound.

"Crucio." The word tastes delicious on her tongue, its flavour one she could never describe. Tristan twitched silently, a coarse piece of black twine sewing his lips crudely shut. When she finally releases the curse, he shudders and heaves, trying to squirm away from her. Placing one heavy boot on his chest, she halts his escape and bends over to level her head with his.

"I'm not going to kill you Tristan, you don't deserve such a mercy. I am, however, going to skin that sorry excuse of a cock you have and string it up from the chandelier." That's when he starts screaming through her gag, struggling twice as hard and wasting all that energy for nothing. Rose slaps her hand over his mouth and shakes her head. "I have to say Tristan, I am very disappointed in you."

* * *

Rose doesn't bother to wash the blood from her robes, she wears it as a badge of honour and victory. Stumbling through her uncles chimney, she looks up surprised by how full the room feels.

"Ummm...hello." Wincing at the cracks in her voice, she bows quickly to the patriarch and keeps her eyes trained on his feet. She has just stumbled into their home uninvited and unannounced, not even sure if she's welcome. But where else could she go? Surely if she had stayed in Russia, she'd be dead before the day was up. News travels fast within the pureblood ranks. She honestly wouldn't be surprised if a bounty had already been placed on her head. Stupid! She shouldn't have come here. She'd endangering the only family she has left. She'll leave. She'll go somewhere across the ocean. Maybe Mexico or Peru. Rose hates the heat but no one will think to look for her in the Americas. She's already backing away when a gentle hand rests on her shoulder. Another comes to wrap around her chin, slowly lifting her face towards the light.

"You are safe now Rose." Her mother's voice is lacking its usual icy edge. Her aunt looks so much like her lost parent that the tears she's been claiming don't exist begin to fall without her permission.

"Oh Auntie, it's all my fault!" Collapsing into her aunt's embrace, she truly feel her loss.

"Oh hush now darling. Hush. Everything will be alright." She almost laughs at the woman's weak attempt at comfort, grinding out false words through tears of her own but she can't bring herself to be cruel. Her uncle rests his hand on the top of her head, the heavy weight gives her the strength to pull away and dry her tears. His approval shines silently on his face.

"Rosie, we've got a room all prepared for you upstairs. Why don't you go and settle in." Taking his sobbing wife in his arms, her uncle Luka snaps his fingers. A house elf pops in, lifting her bags and darting out into the hall.

"This way Miss! This way! Nutty will show you to your room!" His babbling drifts off and Rose turns back to her family. Bowing again, she gets up on her own this time.

"Thank you for inviting me into your home. I greatly appreciate it in my time of need. I will try to be out within the week so as to not trouble you further."

"Don't be silly Rosie," her uncle says. "We are your guardians now. You'll stay with us."

"But Helvig-"

"Won't be able to touch you here." Luka Ruskova is resolute and will not be swayed on the matter.

"I-...thank you." She is not accustomed to the warmth in their smiles, they make her nervous and itchy. This will certainly take some getting used to, she thinks to herself. Rose exits the room without turning her back to them, as is polite in good company. The french doors close tight and they leave her stranded in a mansion that is only made up of fuzzy memories and glossy pictures. Nutty pops back, guiding her up the stairs and down the hall. She turns her attention back to the elf just in time to hear, "...and that's young Mistress Katherine's room."

Rose doesn't waste time with the little creature anymore, sending it away with a flick of her wrist. It pops off obediently. Kitty's room is dark, so she's clearly not here. She doesn't care, the comforting smell of citrus bubble bath and broom polish wafts into her nose. It's enough to quiet her raging mind for now. They had grown up together as children, her and Katherine. Eventually parted when Kit had gone with her parents to live in England. They had communicated almost weekly through packages and letters, the Ruskova's usually spending Christmas at Rosalinda's manor. Almost every good memory she had consisted of Kit and her tricks.

Rose stumbles blindly into the room, tripping over abandoned dirty clothes and old magazines. She falls into the bed, burying herself under the duvet and wraps her body around what she is sure it Kit's pillow. Her tears come a lot easier then, as she cries for both her parents. But mostly she cries for herself. For her innocence stolen and her hope in humanity snatched away from her. She swears she'll never love. She'll never let another man touch her again. He's still under her skin, taunting her and laughing at her weakness. Rose prays they meet again, because this time she will kill him. She'll give him the longest, most drawn out and painful death she can possibly imagine and then she'll put him back together just to do it all again.

**Strength. Bravery. Blood.**

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Okay, so I decided to post the first chapter of the revamp and see how it does and what people think before I get invested in writing it. I don't know if Dahlia will end up posting her half. We'll have to see how my first chapter does first. I hope everyone likes it. I've grown and aged a lot as a writer and as a person since From Russia With Love was posted all those years ago. The story has gotten a complete overhaul because let's all be honest, the original was rubbish. It was pretty painful for me to read through.

Anyway, let me know what you guys think of our new story!

котенок: Kitten

- Bridge


End file.
